And strangely, one of the most special goosebump moments I have experienced related to cricket did not happen during a match at all. It happened much later, on a quiet street, after a famous Indian victory. Even today, whenever I think about that moment, it feels almost unreal.
My relationship with cricket began relatively late. I truly started following the game around the 1992 World Cup. But once the cricket bug bit me, it became a lifelong passion. Since then, cricket has become deeply intertwined with friendships, celebrations, heartbreaks, family moments, and memories of growing up.
The matches and innings I mention here are based purely on top-of-the-mind recall and are in no particular order. I am sure I may have missed several special performances and unforgettable moments that evoked equally strong emotions over the years. But these are the ones that instantly come rushing back whenever I think about cricket and what it has meant to me emotionally.
The 2002 NatWest Final against England remains one of the defining moments of Indian cricket for me. I was pursuing my MBA then and staying in a flat with friends. After Sachin Tendulkar got out, many of us lost hope and some even left. But a few of us stayed back as Mohammad Kaif and Yuvraj Singh slowly pulled off the impossible. As India edged closer, the same friends began returning one by one. I firmly believe the victory changed Indian cricket.
There was the famous Silver Jubilee Independence Cup final in Dhaka in 1998, when Hrishikesh Kanitkar hit the winning boundary against Pakistan off the penultimate ball. I still remember running barefoot onto the streets after the win. We burst crackers, danced, and celebrated like the entire city belonged to us.
Sachin Tendulkar’s back-to-back centuries in Sharjah against Australia in 1998 still feel unreal in my memory. I remember sitting in front of the television...completely stunned. It felt less like cricket and more like witnessing something magical. Every shot carried a kind of authority and beauty that is impossible to fully describe even today.
VVS Laxman’s 281 against Australia at Eden Gardens in 2001 was another unforgettable experience. There have been bigger innings in Test cricket history, but I do not think I have ever seen a more beautiful innings. The partnership that Laxman and Rahul Dravid stitched together was not just great cricket - it was resistance, artistry, and belief unfolding together. They simply refused to surrender.
Sachin Tendulkar’s unbeaten 241 at Sydney in 2004 is another innings deeply etched into my memory. Many people had started writing him off then because of low scores and a visible pattern in his dismissals. Then came that masterpiece of discipline and control. I remember crying when he reached his double century.
And then, of course, came the 2011 World Cup victory. Like millions of Indians, I wanted India to win but I also wanted India to win for Sachin Tendulkar. The man had been waiting for a lifetime. When India finally lifted the trophy after 28 years, it felt deeply personal.
Virat Kohli’s unbelievable innings against Pakistan at the MCG in 2022, and India’s historic Gabba win in 2021 are all memories that still give me goosebumps.
And above all, as a lifelong Royal Challengers Bangalore supporter, the 2025 IPL victory remains deeply emotional. After 18 long years of waiting, heartbreaks, near misses, trolling, and endless jokes, RCB finally lifted their maiden IPL trophy. It felt like emotional closure after nearly two decades of loyalty and hope.
But despite all these unforgettable matches and innings, one of my most cherished cricket memories did not happen during a match.
It happened after one.
It was after the 2003 ICC World Cup match between India and Pakistan in Centurion. Sachin Tendulkar’s unforgettable 98 against a terrifying Pakistani pace attack - that included Shoaib Akhtar, Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis - led India to victory in one of the most emotionally charged matches Indian cricket fans have ever witnessed. Like millions of Indians, I was ecstatic.
After the match ended, I took out my two-wheeler and went to a friend’s place. From there, we went to another flat where a few of our friends were staying together. I wanted all of us to step out and celebrate the victory properly. I wanted everyone to take out their two-wheelers and ride towards Hussain Sagar in Hyderabad.
But, apart from me, everyone was reluctant.
“Do we really need to go out?” some of them said. The match was over. The excitement, for them, was already beginning to settle.
We were still standing outside on a dimly lit street when something happened that I can never forget.
Out of nowhere, a scooter slowly appeared from the other end of the road. A Sardarji was riding it. His young son was standing in front of him. His daughter was standing at the back seat, holding an Indian tricolour in her hand. And all three of them were shouting:
“Indiaaaaa… India!”
The street was still mostly quiet. No one else was celebrating...at least in that part of the town. But this family did not care. They were celebrating as if India had won the World Cup.
There was something magical about that sight.
Even today, whenever I see the Indian tricolour flying, it gives me goosebumps. But that moment felt different. For those few seconds, it did not even feel real. There was something incredibly pure about that sight - almost divine.
I can never forget the sight of still the little girl standing fearlessly on the back seat of the scooter, waving the flag proudly into the night while holding onto her father’s shoulder. I still remember the father driving carefully, slowly, protectively. I still remember the energy in their voices as they shouted “Indiaaaaa… India!”
It was such an ordinary scene. And yet, it captured something extraordinary.
I immediately pointed towards them and told my reluctant friends, “Look at them!....Shame on you guys!!”
That sight changed everything. Within minutes, all of us took out our vehicles and headed towards Hussain Sagar. The entire city had come alive by then. Necklace Road was overflowing with people. Roads were jam-packed. Thousands had gathered to celebrate India’s victory. The celebrations that night were unforgettable.
But even today, years later, what remains with me most vividly is not the crowd, not the noise, not even Sachin’s innings.
It is that one scooter in a dimly lit street.
A Sikh father. Two happy children. A waving tricolour.
And three voices shouting into the night: “Indiaaaaa… India...”
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